


a little too loud

by Anonymous



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bets & Wagers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8611939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He bangs his head on the nearest wall, already trying to figure out what Sonja will make him do for 24 hours. Because there is no way he’s winning this bet. No way he can turn that boy —with his hoodie, hunched shoulders, backwards cap and, frankly, overall sad aura— into something model-dating Emma would go for. Or: the She's All That AU





	1. prologue.

**prologue.**

“All I’m saying is that sexy is a matter of attitude,” Even says, much to the amusement of everyone around him.

“Easy for you to say,” Elise replies.

Even chuckles. “It’s true! It has nothing to do with looks.”

Elise shakes her head at him, but it’s Sonja who actually takes him up on this. Smirking at him, she says, “Okay, hot stuff, how about a bet?”

“What are you on about, Sonja?”

“Oh, I’m just saying, if Even is so convinced sexy is just a matter of attitude, he shouldn’t mind proving it, right?”

Even raises a quizzical brow at his girlfriend. “And what would this proving entail?”

“I think we can find a poor, unfortunate soul within the walls of this school for you to _transform_. If you get what I mean.”

“Okay,” Elise says. “But how would he go about proving said transformation.”

“Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it?” Sonja replies. “Whoever this poor, unfortunate soul turns out to be has to be able to hook up with the hottest person in our school.”

“Sonja, darling,” Even says, pursing his lips to keep himself from laughing. “I think you’ve been watching too many American movies!”

“Afraid you’re gonna lose already?” Sonja shoots back, her smirk widening.

Even considers his girlfriend for a minute before saying, “Not at all. What are the stakes?”

Crossing her arms above her chest, Sonja says, “Let’s see. If you fail, you have to be my bitch for a whole day.”

At this, he laughs so hard that it almost hurts. He laughs and is still laughing when he replies, “Sonja, darling, I’m already your bitch half of the time.”

“Not like this, you’re not. You’ll have to do as I command for a full 24 hours.”

“And if I succeed?”

“Then you’ll get my signed Baz Luhrmann box set, how about that?”

Later, Even will look back at this moment and identify it as the minute his life went downhill.

But right then and there, the thought of owning the box set that he has so coveted is enough to make him say, “You’re on.”

“Great!” Sonja replies. Turning to face their fellow students, she says, “And now, for our victim.”

“Be nice,” Even warns, already afraid Sonja will pick the worst person possible.

“Should I?” Sonja muses, eyes fixed on the crowd.

“Please?”

“Alright,” she says. Then, pointing at a far corner, “Him.”

For a minute, Even is too confused by the male pronoun to notice who Sonja is pointing at. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘him’? What—“

“I mean him,” she insists, gesturing at the same far corner.

“I thought we were talking about girls not—”

“Tough luck, Even,” she interrupts. “I’m choosing that lonely hooligan.”

Let it never be said, Even thinks as he identifies the guy, that Sonja can’t pinpoint a person with a couple of words. Jesus Christ.

“You’re cheating,” Even complains, eyes still on the guy.

“You just didn’t bother reading the fine print,” Sonja shoots back. “Now, I think we need a deadline and the hottest chick to get this bet going.”

Groaning, he says, “I hate you.”

“Giving up already?”

“Never.”

“Good. So, deadline?”

“How about Christmas?” Elise interjects. “We can throw a party to honor the occasion.”

“Perfect! And the hottest chick?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Elise replies. “You know that girl Emma?”

Even feels his stomach dropping as he has the distinct feeling his big mouth just got him into a trap. In the vain hope that he’s wrong, he says, “Not _that_ Emma.”

“I think _that_ Emma will do just fine.”

“She’s dating a model!” Even exclaims.

“So? Weren’t you just saying sexy is a matter of attitude?”

“I hate you,” he repeats.

“So, Emma it is,” Sonja declares with so much finality in her voice that Even knows arguing will be pointless. “Get our lonely hooligan to hookup with her by Christmas and the price is yours.”

“Did you plan this?” he asks.

“Me?” she replies, all innocence. “Never.” Then, winking at him, she adds, “We’ll leave you now, so you can get started.”

“Right,” Even mutters under his breath.

When Sonja kisses him on the cheek, she whispers something that he doesn’t quite catch. Too distracted by the daunting task ahead of him, he turns to her to ask, but she’s already walking away.

He bangs his head on the nearest wall, already trying to figure out what Sonja will make him do for 24 hours. Because there is no way he’s winning this bet. No way he can turn that boy —with his hoodie, hunched shoulders, backwards cap and, frankly, overall sad aura— into something model-dating Emma would go for.

The ringing bell startles him. Sighing, he grabs his stuff and heads for his next class. He’ll have to come up with a good plan.


	2. i.

**i.**

He picks up a pair of boxers from the floor, smells it and remembers he hasn’t done his laundry in over two weeks. Sighing, he sifts through the clothes strewn all over the floor until he finds a pair that doesn’t make him regret his most recent choices. It takes him about ten more minutes to find trousers and a shirt that can pass off as clean after he sprays them with deodorant. He really needs to stop spilling beer on his clothes.

By the time he makes it out of his room, he’s already running late. Too late to have proper food, too late to ride his bike and probably too late for school. In an effort to keep himself from starving to death and save some cash, he microwaves a slice of cheese on a sad piece of bread and calls it breakfast. He still has to run out the door to the nearest tram stop, sad toastie in hand.

He’s breathless when he manages to get on the tram, flopping down on the first empty seat he finds. The toastie is cold now, but he’s not really thinking about it as he stares out the window. He’s been getting on the same tram almost every day since the school year started. He doesn’t know what it says about him that every time it’s because he’s running late. He likes to think he knows what it says about everyone else who gets on the same tram, at the same time, every day.

He’s been doing this for almost a month now and can recognize most of the people sharing his morning ride. There’s the bald guy who all but yells on his phone, every single day. The woman in pantsuits who reads gossip magazines. The mother of two, very annoying children. An old man with a cane. A few first-years that go to his school. He thinks he knows what it says about them that they’re always waiting at the tram stop on time, every day.

He wonders if he’d rather be like them. Jonas would say it’d be too boring. He’d probably say capitalism has forced people into mindless routines, where nothing but money matters. Probably.

Isak isn’t sure he agrees. He can’t talk to Jonas about capitalism, because getting into that would be like willing throwing himself into a black hole. But also, he’s not sure it’d be all that bad to know what you’re doing, to know where you’re headed.

The tram stops suddenly, and the girl standing next to him loses her footing and almost falls right into his lap. She’s one of the girls from his school, and she blushes prettily as she apologizes for dropping her two bags on his legs. She bites her lip, her stare lingering after she picks up her stuff. It occurs to Isak that it’d be polite to offer her his seat, seeing how she’s carrying three times as many things as he is.

“I have a project,” the girl explains as she takes the seat offered to her.

“Oh,” Isak replies.

She’s pretty, he guesses, though not his type. He doesn’t _think_ she’s his type. Truth be told, he’s not sure he has a type. The last girl he had feelings for was Eva and even then…

“Thanks for the seat,” the girl says, again.

“No problem,” he says.

He can feel the girl’s eyes on him, so he makes a very conscious effort to look away. He has a vague idea of what she wants, and it’s too early in the morning to be thinking about anything other than the homework he forgot to do.

He’s concentrating very hard on staring as far away from the girl as possible when he notices the one person on the tram he’s never been able to figure out. It’s this blond guy who rides the tram on random days. Unlike Isak, he’s always neatly dressed, hair always brushed back. Unlike everyone else, he doesn’t get on at the same stop. More often than not, gets off one or two stops before they reach the school, which is weird, because Isak knows for a fact they go to the same school.

As a human being, this guy makes little sense. And maybe that’s why Isak keeps staring him.

 

He asks Jonas in the middle of their maths class whether he thinks capitalism has made people stick to tighter routines. In his defense, the class is so boring, he’s actually falling asleep.

“What?” Jonas asks under his breath as he takes down some notes.

“I said, what do you think about the link between capitalism and routines?”

Jonas shoots him yet another look of disbelief before shaking his head and going back to his notes. Then, “You wanna talk about that now?”

Isak shrugs. “I was thinking about it on the way to school.”

“You get so weird when you ride that tram,” Jonas says by way of an answer. ”What do they put in that air conditioning? Weed?”

Isak’s loud chuckle earns the pair of them a stern stare from their teacher. He's 99% sure that if this had happened with anyone other than Jonas, he would be receiving a sermon on the importance of paying attention in class. Lucky for him, their maths teacher thinks Jonas is a gift from heaven, sent to her after years of pointless teaching. Still, not wanting to push his luck, he opens his notebook and starts jotting down everything on the board.

 

The classes before lunch drag on and on as Isak starts to regret only having that sad toastie for breakfast. His stomach is roaring by the time the bell finally rings, and he’s able to make a beeline for the cafeteria. He’s really only thinking about food and how much money he can spend on it today as he queues up, so he doesn’t notice who’s ahead or behind him.

He’s almost at the cashier, mouth watering at the thought of a proper sandwich, when someone asks him, “Sorry, could I borrow ten kroner?”

It takes Isak a moment to realize that the question was meant for him. Then another couple of seconds to reply, because the questions is coming from the tram guy.

“Sorry?” Isak replies eventually, still not sure he’s heard right.

“I left my wallet at home,” tram guy explains. “And I’m ten kroner short.”

“Oh,” Isak says. Then, “Yeah, yeah of course.”

Digging for his wallet, Isak finds a coin and hands it over. The smile that he gets in return is nothing short from dazzling. Isak can feel his cheeks warming for no reason whatsoever, and he has to make his best attempt at pretending to be cool.

“Thanks, man,” tram guy says.

“No worries.”

A moment later, Isak is shaking hands with tram guy.

“I’m Even, by the way.”

“Isak.”

Even smiles again. “Nice to meet you, Isak. And thanks for letting me borrow some money!”

“It’s no problem, man,” Isak replies, trying to appear chill but failing miserably as the blood rushing to his face continues to betray him.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Even says, and there’s a hint of teasing in his voice. “It’s very hard to find trusting people in this day and age.”

Even’s smile has somehow widened, and the simple charm of it is so contagious that Isak is able to forget how long he’s spent staring at that face and say, “Oh, how times have changed! Young people today!”

It makes Even laugh hard and openly. And a part of Isak doesn’t understand what’s happening, doesn’t understand how this is happening. The other part —the part that knows more than it lets on— makes him laugh along.

“Honestly, young people,” Even says, mock-appalled.

Shaking his head, Isak can’t stop smiling as he replies, “Where is the world heading to?”

“Sadness and woe!” Even exclaims. “Drama!”

“Ah, yes,” he agrees. “So much drama.”

Then Even clears his throat. “Hey, wanna have lunch together?”

“Sure.”

When he first walked in, Isak spotted an empty table in a far corner that all but had his name on it. Even, however, leads them to a table right in the middle of the cafeteria, where it is bound to get far too crowded and loud as soon as all the students start getting in.

“Which year are you in?” Even asks conversationally as they sit down.

“Second, you?”

“Third, though it doesn’t really feel like it, you know?”

“What’d you mean?”

“Nothing much. It’s just that… Feels like a continuation of the same.”

Isak doesn’t really get it. His first year meant a new school. In between the end of his first and the start of his second, he moved out and pretty much stopped talking to his mom. It’s never really been a “continuation of the same” for him.

“You look lost in thought,” Even says. “Remembered something?”

Isak shakes his head. “Not really. Just… thinking about it.”

“I see… Are you one of those people?”

“Those people?”

“Those people who think a lot.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Even shrugs. “Only if it keeps you from actually living.” He fixes Isak with a look that Isak can’t quite pinpoint. Then, suddenly changing topics, Even says, “I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

For a moment, Isak panics. Maybe Even has noticed him staring. Maybe he thinks Isak’s a stalker and a weirdo and…

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Around school.”

Raising an eyebrow, Even crosses his arms above his chest. “Oh, you think you’re so smart, don’t you? Did no one ever teach you to respect your elders?”

“I have to say,” Isak starts, his mouth working faster than his mind, “you’re a little obsessed with age.”

“Ah, you young people would never understand,” Even says, voice wistful and dramatic. “How the years fly by…”

“That’s very true. As a young human being, I cannot understand the pains of such an old, old man as yourself.”

For moment, Even stares at him, as though he’s trying very hard to figure something out. Then his entire face breaks into a grin before he replies, “You’re terrible!”

“Listen, I’m not gonna stop you lamenting your existence.” Then, “Old age is hard on everyone. You’re allowed to complain, now and again.”

“Terrible, I say,” Even declares. “Absolutely terrible!”

He forgets why his palms are so sweaty and why he feels suddenly so relieved as the conversation moves along. From one thing to the next, Isak isn’t really thinking about what he’s saying. For the first time in months, he’s not lost somewhere deep in his own head. And though he can’t really tell the difference straight away, for the first time in who knows how long, he’s actually living.


	3. ii.

**ii.**

“Again, why are we going to this?” Isak asks.

“Because Eva is making me,” Jonas replies with the voice of someone who’s answered the same question ten thousand times. 

“And your answer still makes no sense.” They’ve been having the same conversation for at least two days. The only reason Isak is even coming to this _kose_ whatever-it-is is to figure out which of two things this is actually about. To Jonas, he says, “Unless you’re getting back together or wanna get inside her pants. Again.”

“I just owe her for something, okay?”

“And that something would be?”

“None of your business.”

“So, not only are you forcing me to go to this _kose_ thing, you also won’t tell me why!”

“I told you why.”

“‘I owe Eva’ is not an answer. It barely qualifies as—”

“I never went down on her!”

Jonas’ little outburst takes the both of them by surprise. 

“Uh…” Isak starts, though he really doesn’t know what to say in the face of this new information. 

“Yeah,” Jonas says, equally ineloquent. 

“But you guys aren’t back together,” Isak states, trying to understand and failing miserably. 

“No.”

“Then what does she care? What do you care? What—”

Jonas groans before muttering something under his breath that Isak doesn’t quite catch, but that sounds an awful lot like “I’m going to kill you.”

“Listen,” Jonas says. “Eva heard about that thing I had with the third year chick. And we’re trying to be friends, and she won’t shut up about how I never did that to her, and how now I have to make up for it. But I can’t very well do it now, because, well. So. she somehow figured out joining her _kose_ group would make us even or whatever.” Jonas pauses to breathe and stare at Isak. “And you’re coming with me because you need more friends.”

It’s a testament to how weird this entire situation is that Isak can’t remember the last time Jonas went on a rant that didn’t involve politics or the liberating joy of skating. 

“You mean _better_ friends,” Isak clarifies. 

Jonas furrows his brow. “What?”

“I don’t need more friends,” he explains. “I need better ones. Ones who won’t drag me to theatre study groups or whatever this _kose_ nonsense is.”

“Eva said it wouldn’t be that bad.”

“The things I do for you…” Isak says dramatically as he pushes the door to the _kose_ group meeting. 

 

They take a couple of fronts seats, because there are no empty chairs in the back of the room. But mostly because Eva takes Jonas’ arm in hers and says, “You’re sitting here.”

It takes a while for the meeting to start. This is thanks to Vilde, who keeps stalling in the no doubt vain hope that more people will show up to support her tree-hugging idea of socializing. Eventually, though, she does turn to the room and starts talking about a good atmosphere and love and friendship and other things Isak doesn’t real hear. 

Before he knows what’s happening, Vilde is dividing them into pairs for group activities. Even then, he’s not really paying much attention until he catches the word “cooking”.

He’s in the middle of mouthing “cooking!” at Jonas when Eva swoops in, declaring Jonas to be her pair. 

Jonas at least has the decency to look apologetical as he lets himself be led away. 

This is about as much as Isak is willing to engage with this _kose_ group. As soon as Jonas is out of sight, he starts making a beeline for the door.

Then someone says, “Not leaving now, are you?” 

Turning around, Isak finds himself face to face with Even and the bottom of his stomach drops. In a second, the memories of his weekend flash before his eyes as all the blood is his body rushes to his face. And the more he just stands there, the more he remembers how he spent the better part of his Saturday stalking Even until he found that rather obscure video with a Captain America action figure and a Barbie doll. The rest of his Saturday was obviously spent finding and watching every Baz Luhrmann movie he could find. 

It takes Even asking him whether he’s okay for Isak to realize he’s been standing there, saying nothing, for quite some time. 

“Uh…” he starts. Then, “Yeah, I was just…”

“Heading out?” Even supplies. 

“Yeah,” Isak replies. “This, uh, isn’t really my scene.”

“Oh? That’s a shame, I was hoping you’d save me from them,” Even says, tilting his head back in the general direction of a group of girls.

A group of girls that happen to be staring at Even and giggling rather obviously. 

“Must be hard to be you,” Isak mutters. 

“A tragedy, really,” Even replies, grinning. “So, what say you, good sir?”

Isak glances back at the group of giggling girls. He’s pretty sure they’re all first years. He’s also pretty sure at least one of them is giving him the stink eye. 

“I think one of your girls wants to murder me,” he says. 

Even turns to identify the girl staring daggers at Isak. “Ah,” he says before turning back to Isak and shrugging. “Well, what’s life without a little risky business?”

“You’re a terrible influence.”

Even’s grin is disarming as he says, “Of course.” 

Isak spares the group of girls a final glance before saying, “Okay, I’m in.”

 

An Eva-free Jonas finds him at the end of the group meeting just as Even and Isak are exchanging numbers. It’s all in the name of diligence and making Vilde happy. Though he doesn’t know how happy Vilde will be when the two of them show up with their first group assignment. Isak doesn’t know about Even, but he sure as hell can’t bake to save his life. 

“Hey, man,” Jonas says, clapping Isak on the back. And, because his mom raised him to be polite, he holds out his hand to Even and says, “I’m Jonas.”

Shaking Jonas’ hands, Even introduces himself. Then, turning to Isak, he says, “So, I’ll text you about this?”

“Uh, sure,” Isak says. 

As soon as Even is out of earshot, Jonas turns to him and asks, “Who’s that guy?”

Trying to appear cool, Isak shrugs and answers with the first thing that pops into his head, “He borrowed money from me the other day.”

“Oh,” Jonas says, sounding slightly disappointed for some reason. “So he was just paying you back?”

“Uh… No,” Isak says. “We’re, um, _kose_ partners, I guess.”

Jonas’s wide grin is almost a bit disturbing as he says, “I told you so.”

“What?”

“I said you needed more friends!”

“Oh,” Isak replies, staring at the opposite corner of the room where Even is. “Yeah, you did say that.” _Friends_.

“Told you it wouldn’t be too bad.”

At this, Isak glares half-heartedly at his friend. “Vilde is making us bring baked goods for our first assignment.”

Jonas’ eyes widen right before he bursts out laughing. Isak is pretty sure Jonas laughs for a straight minute before he’s able to force himself to calm down. 

“This is all your fault,” Isak tells him.

Jonas is still chortling and he barely manages to get out, “Isak, I’m so sorry,” before he’s right out laughing again. 

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy yourself,” Isak says bitterly. “I hope Vilde makes you and Eva come up with a love-scene reenactment.”

The thought of this possibility appears to sober Jonas up a little as he straightens his back and says, “Oh, God no.”

It isn’t lost on Isak how, at the mention of Eva, Jonas started looking for her around the room. “How’d it go with you two?”

Shrugging, Jonas says, “Same as usual.”

Nowadays, Isak doesn’t know what same as usual means between Eva and Jonas. “Still friends?” he asks. 

“Yup.”


	4. iii.

****

iii.

Three days later, Isak makes the mistake of asking his mom for her cookie recipe. In return, all he gets back is a quote from the Bible and a not-so-casual line about “Uncle Donald”. He briefly entertains the thought of telling his mom she forgot to send her recipe before he gives it up as a lost cause. As much as he used to like her cookies when he was five, he doesn’t think they’re worth _two_ Bible sermons. 

Instead, he settles for finding something online. And then, upon reading what feels like fifty recipes for “super-easy cookies!”, he makes peace with the idea that he’ll be spend the foreseeable afternoons trying to make sense of oven temperatures. It… doesn’t go very well. 

On his first attempt, he burns his cookies. On his second, they melt all over the oven tray. Reason would dictate that his third attempt would be the winning one. And yet, the third time he tries, his would-be cookies just sort of explode. One minute, they’re fine. The next, he’s hearing a loud, popping noise before the entire kitchen fills up with smoke. It’s a team effort between him and Eskild to get the smoke detectors disabled before firemen come rushing to their rescue. 

“Though paying the fine is almost worth it,” Eskild says, a wistful look on his face as he manages to turn off the last of the detectors.

Rolling his eyes, Isak goes to open all windows in the house while doing his best to ignore Eskild’s rant on how he found a fireman on Grndr, but blew it.

After the incident, Linn and Eskild hold a flat meeting behind his back and permanently ban Isak from ever using the oven again. 

“It’s for your own sake,” Linn says. 

Which Isak almost buys. Until Eskild adds, “Also, I don’t want my obituary to read ‘died from exploding cookie batter’. It’s not very sexy.”

Somehow, the whole situation devolves into a debate over the best movies about food, which naturally ends with the three of them streaming _Julie & Julia_. The worst part of it is that, after the movie ends and they all go back to their rooms, Isak somehow ends up buying _Julie and Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously_ off Amazon. He reasons with himself, telling his mind lies about how the book is a bargain for half the price, but really, what the hell is he doing? 

And in between his failed attempts at baking, he gets a single text from Even that says, _your place or mine?_

Isak tries to be vague about why it has tone Even’s place and not his. He doesn’t think he can trick Even into thinking he can cook, but he also figures Even doesn’t have to know just how terrible he truly is. 

 

Two days after the explosion and six chapters into _Julie and Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously_ , Isak finds himself standing in Even’s kitchen. 

He’s staring at the ingredients spread out on the counter, a sense of foreboding clouding his judgement. 

“Or,” he says as Even hands him a whisker, “we could always cheat.”

Even raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m pretty sure that is not Vilde’s idea of bonding.”

“I’m just saying, it’ll be easier,” Isak says. 

Walking over to Isak, Even leans against the counter. “Tell me,” he says, his head tilted to one side, “are you scared of this?”

Isak’s answers comes far too fast and dignified to fool anyone. “No!”

“Oh,” Even says. “Now you have to tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Isak replies defensively. 

“Come on,” Even presses, “I promise to take your secret to the grave.”

Isak has been concentrating so hard on avoiding Even’s face that when he looks up, he’s genuinely surprised to find it so close to his. 

Even’s eyes are big and blue when he asks, “Please?”

It makes Isak gulp as his cheek start to warm. “It’s nothing,” he lies, shaking his head. “I just… I may or may not have made a batch of would-be cookies explode.”

Even’s eyes go comically wide in disbelief. “What?”

“I was permanently banned from using the oven at my place,” Isak admits, more blood rushing to his face. 

Even is still staring when he says, “No, you didn’t.”

“It’s true. My roommates staged an intervention and everything,” Isak says. Then, in his best imitation of Linn, he continues, “‘It’s because we love you and worry about you!’”

And that’s apparently as much as Even can handle, because next thing he’s double over, laughing as he clutches his stomach. He wheezes for a few seconds, then starts all over again. And all the while, Isak just sort of stands there, grinning despite himself because there is something stupidly contagious about the way Even laughs with his entire body. 

It takes a while for Even to calm down. By the time he finally manages to stop, he’s wiping tears from his eyes, the grin on his face so wide that Isak’s own mouth hurts on his behalf.

“Please tell me there’s evidence of this,” Even says.

“Sorry,” Isak replies. “We were too busy trying to disable every smoke detector in the house.”

“Oh, God,” Even says, pursing his lips together in a clear attempt to keep himself from going into a second burst of uncontrollable laughter. 

“Yes, well.” Isak shrugs. “Me and kitchens are just not a good idea.”

“So, riddle me this,” Even starts. “Why did you agree to do this?”

Isak can only hold Even’s stare for a couple of seconds before he has to look away, his stomach sinking. “I just… Well, Vilde said…”

“Vilde said?” Even parrots. “What, you have a thing for her?”

“Vilde?” Isak replies. “No. No way.”

“No? What’s your type then?”

“I… I don’t have a type,” Isak says, and for the first time, this statement starts to feel like a lie. “Let’s just get this over with,” he says.

And, to emphasize his point, he takes the bowl of flour, but miscalculates how heavy it is and ends up dropping it. The bowl shatters on the floor, a cloud of white dust swirling up as the flour crashes spectacularly against the ground.

“Okay,” Even says, wiping flour from his shirt. “I’m starting to get your flatmates’ point.” Isak makes half an effort to look affronted as Even hands him a broom, saying, “From now on, you’re on cleaning duty.”

“I’m not completely useless, you know.”

“I know,” Even says, grinning. “That’s why you’re cleaning.”

Isak rolls his eyes dramatically, but starts cleaning up without another word. Truth be told, he’s kind of relieved.

 

It is hard to explain how, after Isak was unceremoniously taken off all cooking duties, they end up covered in batter. He thinks the Great Batter War of 2016 starts with Even saying something about Isak not handling well his cookies, and then the entire thing devolving into a contest of who can throw the most batter at whom. The end result is not particularly glamorous, to say the least. 

“I’ll be eaten by dogs if I walk back home like this,” Isak complains, looking down at himself. 

In retrospect, throwing the first fistful of batter was a bad move on his part. The again, how was he supposed to know Even would respond with even more enthusiasm than himself?

“All sorts of animals will come get you,” Even agrees, handing Isak a beer. “Bears and otters, and who knows what else!”

Isak chokes on his beers as he makes his best effort to avoid Even’s entire being. He doesn’t know what his face is showing, but the fact that he’s suddenly feeling dizzy and feverish is probably not a good sign as far as stealth goes. 

“Funny,” Isak says before he starts drinking his beer a little too fast. 

“I’m hilarious,” Even agrees easily. Then, “Tell you what. I’d feel somewhat responsible if you turned up half-eaten by a beast tomorrow morning, so why don’t you use my shower? I’m sure I can find some clothes for you to wear.”

Isak considers this for a moment. He wonders if this would be weird if Even were a girl. Weird _er_. “Uh… Yeah, okay.”

And with that, Even points him to the bathroom, gives him a clean towel while saying he’ll go find some clothes. 

Truth be told, it is nice to be out of his batter-covered clothes. All the sugar was making him dizzy. And Even’s shower is just warm enough. 

When he gets out, Even has left a change of clothes by the door. Trying not to think too hard about it, he changes into the shirt and trousers and walks back to the living room. Even is already lounging on his couch, having also changed his clothes.

“So they fit?” Even asks when he sees Isak.

“Huh?”

“The clothes,” Even explains. “Those aren’t mine.”

As soon as Even says it, Isak realizes that they really don’t look like Even’s clothes _at all_. For starters, they aren’t a limb and a half too long on him. 

“So?” Even prods, sitting up to make room for Isak on the couch.

Flopping down inelegantly, Isak replies. “Uh… Yeah, they’re great, thanks.”

“Great!” Even says. Scooting closer, he bumps his shoulder against Isak’s and says, “I knew I had midget clothing somewhere in this flat.”

“Hey!” Isak exclaims, turning around so fast, that he doesn’t really stop to think about just how close their bodies are. 

See, his original plan was to shoot an indignant glare at Even. And he would’ve, were it not been for the fact that Even’s face is an inch away from his. As it is, Isak is currently finding it very hard not to stare at his pink lips.

He swallows hard before he says, “So, uh, whose are these?” 

And suddenly, it’s as if the spell has been broken. Even blinks at him, looking confused for a second before he replies, “They’re yours for now.”

“Right,” Isak says. 

“So,” Even starts. “Shall we try the baking again?”

Isak can’t help it. He raises a quizzical brow in utter disbelief. “Really?”

Shrugging, Even replies, “You can just stare this time.”

Unsurprisingly, the baking runs much more smoothly with Isak safely out of the way. He’s not about to complain, not when Even is doing all the hard work for the both of them. Instead, he chooses to take his time to look around the flat. Until he finds a collection of drawings pinned to a wall. 

“Are these yours?” he asks curiously.

“Hmm?”

“The drawing, are they yours?”

Wiping his hands on a towel, Even comes to have a look. “They actually are,” he says. “Why, you like them?”

“Yeah, they’re quite good.”

“Thank you,” Even says. “It’s never a bad thing to have one’s talents recognized!”

“Don’t let it get to your head. I said ‘quite good’ not ‘really good’ or ‘excellent’ or—”

“Hush, hush, let me have this moment!”

Isak is half-tempted to not let him have this moment. But there’s something about the way Even moves around his kitchen. Something about the way Even does everything. It nice Isak the impression that he throws himself at anything with everything that he’s got. It’s strange and enticing at the same time. And so very different from everything Isak is. 

 

Half an hour latter, the smell of freshly baked cookies is filling the apartment, while Even stores his cookies in a jar.

He offers it to Isak, saying, “Have a taste.”

It’s a cookie Isak by no means deserves, but one that he still takes. It tastes even better than it smells. Sweet but with a hint of spice that secant quite place. 

“Good, right?”

“Yeah,” Isak agrees, taking another bite. “I’ll give you this one. It’s _really_ good.”

“Oh, my,” Even says. “That’s _quite_ the compliment. Must be my secret ingredient.”

“You have a secret ingredient?” Isak asks in disbelief. 

“I do.”

“And what is it? A lot of love?”

Even’s smile makes the corner of his eyes crinkle when he replies, “Nope. Go on, take a guess.”

It’s definitely a spice, Isak thinks, taking yet another bite. “Is it… cardamom?” 

“Bingo!”

“That’s…”

“What, don’t tell me you’re one of those people offended by cardamom?”

“Never!” Isak says truthfully. “I… actually, I like it.”

“Ah, then you’re one of the proud, the few,” Even says in mock seriousness. “The cardamom eaters!”


	5. iv.

****

iv.

On Monday, the first thing he notices upon entering the room is that there’s a group of girls surrounding Even as he hands out his half of the cookies. And while this is not particularly surprising, when Isak’s eyes land on Eva batting her eyelashes, he stops dead on his tracks. Then he notices the exact same expression on Vilde’s face.

“I hope you didn’t put anything in those cookies,” comes a voice next to him. 

He turns and there’s Sana, arms crossed as she shakes her head at the scene before them. 

“Did you put something in those cookies?” Jonas asks, looking as perplexed as Isak feels. 

The last time Isak checked, cardamom hadn’t been classified as a recreational drug. 

“No,” he replies, staring down at his own, almost full basket.

The baskets were Even’s idea. He said the cookies would be easier to grab or something. Isak still doesn’t know where in Oslo he found two wicker baskets that look as though they were taken directly from the set of _Julie & Julia_. 

He tries to remember how they got here. He remembers Vilde announcing to the room that Isak and Even had brought cookies. He remembers standing next to Even at some point, awkwardly offering up his basket. And then something happened and 90% of the room found itself surrounding Even. 

“Are you sure?” Jonas prods, taking a cookie. 

Isak takes a moment to level him with a stare. “As if I’d bring that to a _kose_ meeting.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Sana says, though she, too, grabs a cookie. There’s a loud giggle from the other end of the room that makes Sana roll her eyes in genuine exasperation before she says, “Okay, that’s enough.”

With that, she marches over to the cluster of people. In matter of seconds, Isak and Jonas find themselves staring in awe as Sana effectively manages to get everyone back to their seats. 

“I don’t know if I’m scared or impressed,” Isak mutters under his breath after Sana raises her eyebrows at the pair of them. It’s an expression that clearly says _what are you waiting for?_

“Both,” Jonas says after a pause. “I think I’m both.”

His basket of cookies sits heavy on his lap as the meeting drags on and on. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers that Vilde wants all of them to do something for the entire school. He catches the words ‘socializing’ and ‘good auras’. 

“What are you staring at?” Jonas whispers. 

“Nothing,” he lies. 

“She’s cute,” Jonas says appreciatively. 

He takes a couple seconds to figure out what Jonas is on about. Then he sees the girl sitting next to Even, a tall brunette whose name he doesn’t know. 

“Oh,” Isak says. “Yeah.”

The way Jonas’ furrows his eyebrows at this is almost enough to get him to stop not-looking-but-looking in that direction. Almost because he allows himself one last glance, and that’s when his eyes meet Even’s. His entire face starts glowing red in a matter of seconds as he makes feeble attempts to make himself smaller.

He’s in the middle of hiding his head in his shoulders when Even stands up, crosses the room and takes the seat next to Isak as though it’s nothing. 

“You sat so faraway,” Even whispers in Isak’s ear. 

It’s very hard to look unimpressed when your face is doing that thing where it goes purple with embarrassment. Yet, that doesn’t stop Isak from trying. 

“You sat faraway,” he counters. 

“Potato, potahto.” Then, “I like that shirt you’re wearing.”

“It was the only thing I had clean,” Isak replies defensively, his face now surely a nasty shade of puce. 

Then Even bumps his shoulder against Isak’s and says, “I mean it. You should keep it.”

As his heart threatens to leap out of his chest, Isak finds it increasingly hard to form any coherent thoughts. And as Even gives him the single brightest smile he’s ever seen in his entire life, all Isak can do is smile back. 

 

An hour later, Even is helping him get rid off the last cookies. They’re almost gone when a third year Isak has never seen before in _kose_ walks up to the pair of them. 

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she says, “Everyone keeps telling me I should try these.”

“Then you must,” Even replies, offering Isak’s basket to her. 

“Well, “ she says, taking a cookie, “if I must.” Barely munching on it, she goes on, “I see what the fuzz is all about. I’m having a party next Friday. You should come make these for it.”

“Next Friday?” Even says, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I already have plans for next Friday.”

“That’s too bad,” comes her reply, though she doesn’t seem very fazed. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

With that, she walks away, swaying her hips as she goes. 

And Isak, who didn’t say a single word throughout the entire exchange, blurts, “ _You and the girls_.” 

“Oh, you noticed?” Even replies, chuckling. 

“Noticed?” Isak parrots. “She didn’t even acknowledge my existence!” 

“I know! That’s why I said no. Also, I already have plans for next Friday.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, you, me and the mall.”

“ _What_?”

“I’m sorry to report that none of my garments survived the batter-battle you incited,” Even says, very seriously. “And since this is largely your fault, you’re coming with me as I hunt for new ones.” Then, with a manic grin, “It’ll be fun.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Isak replies. 

“Well, too bad, because you’re still coming with me.”

“What if I already have plans?”

“Plans that are more important than helping out a friend in need?”

“So, ‘garment replacement’ makes you a person in need?” Isak asks, biting his inner cheek to keep a straight face. 

“Very much in need,” Even agrees dramatically. 

“Okay,” Isak says, no longer able to contain himself and breaking into a full grin. “I see you’re in great need.”

“Thank you,” Even says, bowing for good measure. “Thank you, good sir, your generosity shall not be forgotten!”

Their eyes meet each other’s for a moment before they both start laughing so hard that they get weird looks from the people still in the room. In fact, they’re laughing so hard, that Isak completely misses the way Jonas is staring at the pair of them, brow furrowed.

 

In one way, the rest of the week flashes right before his eyes. He spends Tuesday studying for an exam he nearly fails on Wednesday. Then Thursday, he and Sana start an argument in class over nature versus nurture that they continue all the way through lunch. Before Isak knows it, it’s five in the afternoon, and he’s just spent the last couple of hours reading up on genetics in prison populations. Friday arrives unceremoniously and without a warning the following day. 

In a different way, the rest of the week drags by. Monday night, he gets a text from his mom with yet another Bible quote. Tuesday morning, he has to call his dad for rent money and somehow ends up agreeing to going to a church concert on Thursday. He can think of little else but the concert until lunch, when Jonas buys him a kebab out of pity and flat out asks him what his deal with Even is. In one of the most embarrassing moments in Isak’s life, he comes up with a lie that involves his parents and completely bypasses Jonas’ question. It’s a lie that he very much doubts gets past Jonas’ better judgement, but the subject is dropped. 

But, while Jonas is happy to switch subjects, all that keeps playing in Isak’s head throughout the rest of the day is: what is the deal? His mind feels like groundhog day; an endless loop of conversations and smiles that may or may not add up to something that may or may not mean something else. 

It’s this, really, what makes him get into that argument with Sana the following day. It starts innocently enough: is a psychopath born or shaped? Is it the environment or are you genetically programmed for it? Is it a choice or is it nature? He gets the sneaky feeling that his mind had secret plans when it threw itself head-first into this argument. If the looks Sana keeps giving him are anything to go by, she has the same sneaky suspicion. He’s still thinking about it when he sits through the hour-long mass before the concert, and is still mulling it over when the concert reaches its end. 

When Friday arrives unceremoniously and without a warning, Isak’s head has been spinning with possibilities and ideas, each one crazier than the previous one. His stomach is a tight knot of unvoiced questions he doesn’t want to ask himself. 

When Friday arrives unceremoniously and without a warning, Isak’s phone rings with a text from Even.


	6. v.

****

v.

Looking down at the clothes strewn all over his room, Isak regrets not having the foresight of doing his laundry before Friday. All his favorite shirts are smelly and/or too dirty to be worn before washing. His other shirts are well on their way to being too smelly and/or dirty.

He’s pretty much tried everything he owns before Jonas’ voice pops into his mind asking him what his deal with Even is. This, coupled with the fact that he happens to look at a clock right then and there, means he winds up leaving the house in a rush. He has the distinct suspicion his clothes are terribly mismatched.

His suspicion is confirmed when Even raises an eyebrow at him and says, “Felt colorful this morning?”

Isak feels himself blush, which must make Even feel bad in turn because he quickly adds, “Don’t feel bad! Not being afraid of colors _is_ a step in the right direction.”

“And what direction is that?”

Winking at him, Even replies, “Trust me.” Then, “Now, let’s get going, shall we?”

And with that, Isak finds himself being dragged to the first of many shops. 

 

Somewhere in between assuring Even that red does look good on him and fetching him another t-shirt size, Isak gets roped into trying on clothes himself.

“It’s fun!” Even promises through his dressing room curtain. 

Isak highly doubts this, but the saleslady is already handing him a couple of shirts and a pair of trousers, while Even calls, “I picked those for you!”

All Isak can think of is, “ _When_?”

This time, Even pops his head from behind the curtain to say, “When you weren’t looking, of course.” 

With that, his head disappears again, leaving a very perplexed Isak behind. 

He stands there, holding the clothes until the saleslady clear her throat. “I’ve put a couple of other things in that dressing room,” she says, pointing to the room next to Even’s.

The curtain is half-closed, and Isak can only see there’s something bright hanging on the walls. Awkwardly, he nods at the saleslady and goes to try on what, upon further inspection, appears to be half the store. Because Even apparently had time to pick at least ten different shirts, five trousers, a couple of jackets and _ties_. 

Ten minutes later, Isak walks out of the room wearing a neon orange monstrosity that hurts his eyes. 

Even contemplates him for a minute before shaking his head and saying, “No, I don’t think that color suits you.”

“Oh, _really_?”

“It clashes with your hair,” Even replies dismissively. “And I’m not sure that’s your size, it looks odd. What’s that shirt, an S?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Isak replies, “Dunno.”

This is not an invitation for Even to step into his personal space, turn over the tag hanging behind Isak’s neck, fingers brushing his skin. It makes Isak jump and feel embarrassed, and maybe this whole thing was a terrible idea.

“Are my fingers cold?” Even asks, his eyes very blue. 

“Uh huh,” comes Isak’s reply as he looks away. 

“Right. Well, I’m going to find you something in a different size, don’t go anywhere!”

Even returns with yet more shirts and a couple of belts. He has to grab Isak by the shoulders and push him back into the dressing room after Isak spends a couple of minutes complaining over the clothes. 

He tries on half of what has been handed to him before he steps out in an outfit that doesn’t make Even shake his head. 

“Not bad,” he says, eyeing Isak from head to toe. “But you should tuck in that shirt.”

Rolling his eyes, Isak replies, “As you command.” He gives Even a salute for good measure before he goes back in to tuck his shirt. 

A moment later, he steps out to frowning Even. “It’s still missing something.” Then, “Ah ha! You know wat would look great with that?”

“No,” Isak replies deadpan. 

Before Even says anything, his manic smile forewarns some terrible idea. He does not disappoint when he says, “A bow tie.”

“No,” Isak says. “No, I’m not wearing a bow tie! I don’t even know how to tie a tie, let alone a bow tie. No, I—”

“What better time than the present to learn?” Even asks, already walking into Isak’s dressing room to fish out the ties he’d picked out earlier. “I’ll teach you,” he says, holding a piece of fabric that Isak eyes as though it has personally offended him. And, in a way, it has. 

“Weren’t we supposed to be shopping for clothes for you?” Isak attempts. 

“Yes, but I finished ages ago, and this is fun!” Then, “Come on, you look great in this outfit, it just needs a tie.”

“I hate you,” Isak says. 

“You adore me. Now, pop up that collar.”

Isak does as he’s told, and before he knows it, Even is draping the tie around his neck. His fingers are light as they expertly work their way around tying the bow. He explains everything as he does it, though Isak is not really paying much attention to him. His heart is racing, beating so hard it drowns out Even’s voice. Suddenly, his world is reduced to the feeling of Even’s fingers around his neck, to Even’s warm breath as they stand this close to each other.

“There,” Even says. 

Feeling abruptly cold, Isak realizes Even is no longer standing a couple of inches away from him. In an effort to ignore the way his throat has gone dry, he turns around. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he stops. 

He’s wearing dark red pants, a light blue, button-down shirt and dotted bow tie. His first impression is that he’s never looked this young in this entire year. But then he notices how the shirt makes his shoulder blades look wider, firmer, how the tucked in shirt makes his hips look narrow but strong, somehow. 

“I…” he starts, but is not quite sure what to say next. 

“Am I a great dresser or what?” Even asks, looking very proud of himself. 

Isak’s mind races with a million different thoughts, but somehow, the one that manages to make it out of his mouth is, “I don’t own an iron.”

It makes Even chortle and the corner of his eyes crinkle. “Good thing you aren’t wearing that shirt often.”

“I’m not?” 

“Of course not! Special occasions only.” Then, he adds with a wink, “You should always have something in your wardrobe for a special time.”

This time, it’s Isak who cracks up. He laughs heartily and is breathless when he says, “You sound like my mother!”

“Then she must be a really cool lady,” Even retorts, deadpan. “But you should get those clothes.”

“You think so?” Isak starts sarcastically, “I would’ve never guessed that.”

Shrugging, Even says, “Up to you, young one. But, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a couple of giggling girls staring behind that rack.” Pointing to his left, Even reveals a couple of girls who squeal as soon as Isak turns in their general direction. “Told you,” Even says. “You look hot.”

And this, more than the staring girls, make Isak’s stomach sink. 

 

They hit three different stores, Even buying something in each while Isak refrains from spending another kroner. 

As they walk out of the third one, Even turns to him and asks, “Ready for our last stop? I saved the best for last.”

“Did you?” Isak replies, giving him his best disbelieving look.

“I did!” Even retorts defensively. 

Nodding, Isak lets Even lead the way to yet another store. He’s half expecting it to be full of jean jackets, which have proven to be Even’s favorite item of clothing. Instead, Isak finds himself walking into a tiny basement shop at the end of a dark alley. The music inside is loud, a steady rap beat that matches perfectly the clothes sold. Because the last store Even drags him to is a pretty darned close to Isak’s idea of the perfect style. 

“So?” Even asks, dragging out the word. 

“I’m impressed,” Isak replies, too stunned to be a smarts over this one. 

“Ha, I knew it!” There’s such a genuine delight in Even’s voice that it’d be hard for anyone to feel anything but fondness for him, and Isak is no exception. 

This time, he willingly walks into a dressing room, hands full of clothes and more clothes. Isak secretly worries that the sales guy counting items of clothing in front of the hall lading to the dressing rooms won’t let him in with everything, but he just hands Isak a couple of number tags and lets him move on. There’s hardly any room in the cramped space of the dressing rooms for all the clothes he brings in. 

To the dismay of his bank account, as he tries on everything, his would-buy pile grows steadily larger than his maybe-not one. And really, he has no other option but to start stepping out with each new outfit and ask for advice. 

Moments later, Even is asking through the dressing room curtain, “Are you decent?”

“What?”

“Are you naked or not?”

“ _What_?” Isak repeats, now slightly more scandalized. 

“I’m coming in,” Even announces, which is neither an answer to Isak’s question nor a comforting idea. 

But before Isak has the chance to reply, Even has squished himself into his dressing room —because if this, whatever this is, has proven anything is that Even’s disregard for personal space is absolute. 

“What the hell!”

“It’s packed out there,” Even says by way of an explanation. “I had to beg the guy to let me into the hall, and when wouldn’t, I told him you were my boyfriend—”

“You what?”

“Well, he wouldn’t let me in, so I had to tell him you were too shy to step out, and—” Stopping himself, Even tilts his head and takes a good look at Isak’s burning face. Then, very seriously, he straight up asks, “Are you homophobic?”

“No!” Isak replies defensively, “I just don’t want people thinking that—” But what he was about to say starts sounding incredibly hypocritical in his own head. 

He ends up mumbling something that is almost unintelligible about his privacy. It only makes the frown on Even’s face deepen. 

“Right,” Even says after a pause. “I got these for you.” 

In the small space of the dressing room, Even doesn’t hand over the clothes as much as he accidentally shoves them in Isak’s face, poking him in the eye while at it. 

“Ouch!” Isak exclaims, his palm immediately covering his stinging eye. 

“Oh, shit!” Even says, “Sorry, oh my god.” Then, with his hand on Isak’s, “Here, let me see how bad it is.”

On instinct, Isak drops his hand. His vision out of one eye in blurry, and it’s hard for his sight to focus when the person standing next to him is so close. He feels more than he sees Even tentatively touching the skin around his eye. Slowly, Isak’s blurred vision becomes sharper as it zeroes in on Even in front of him. His heart beats faster with every second that passes, and he’s soon holding his breath, waiting, waiting.

For a second, their eyes meet. For a second, there’s a sharpened focus between them. 

It’s over as soon as it began, Even dropping his hand suddenly. He opens his mouth and, for the first time since Isak’s known him, he appears truly speechless. Blinking, Even takes a step back and starts to say, “I…” but he doesn’t say anything else before he steps out. 

Isak is still standing in the tiny room when the sales guy calls, “Everything okay here?”

Later, when Isak is queuing up to pay for his clothes, Even finds him. 

“Sorry about earlier,” he says. “I remembered I had to make a call.”

“Oh,” is all Isak can say. 

 

On Saturday, Isak wears a new shirt and pair of jeans when he goes out for coffee with Eva. He’s too tired to sift through his dirty clothes, and there’s no reason why he should do it when he has bags full on new shirts. He doesn’t really think about his sartorial choices as he heads out, is actually trying his damnedest not to think about the night before. 

And then Eva takes a good look at him —makes him spin around and everything— before she says, “Since when do you know how to dress your self?”


End file.
